Dark Library (3)
“So he’s already entered the library.”
The dungeon of the 8th-level dark mage, Shandorei Tilion.
The giant infant lying in the obsidian coffin faced Olivera.
A tall woman stood there, her transparent veil fluttering as she clasped her hands behind her back over her splendid robe.
Tilion, gazing bitterly at the darkness spread across the dungeon corridor, spoke in a low voice.
“It took me over twenty years to understand Nox Biblio and move freely within it.”
[At least his intuition is something he was born with.]
Olivera replied slowly.
[He himself seems to feel nothing about it, but he possesses a spirituality blessed by the heavens.]
“How surprising. To think you would praise another’s talent to that extent.”
Tilion laughed.
“Didn’t you say that talent and fate were meaningless standards, that you would change them?”
[That I did.]
Olivera said.
[However, if there exists an ultimate standard for the demonic citadel, I am not foolish enough to deny it.]
[The ideal destination we sought while retracing the entire world. Regardless of our wishes, it may have existed somewhere from the very beginning.]
“Hahaha…… how absurd, Maize.”
Tilion muttered, looking at her with a hollow expression.
“To think that you, of all people, can say such things now. Time truly is fleeting.”
[…]
The dark mage mocked, and Olivera replied, but the sentiments of the two were not so different.
Both Olivera and Tilion, who had attended the meeting, knew how unreal Lennok was.
Even without dissecting his past in detail, the very time he had lived was enough to gauge the scale of his vessel.
A noble of the central city. A monstrous being who, in less than ten years, had accumulated power and magical aptitude surpassing even the highest-ranking apostles of the cult.
[With the talent I estimate he has, it won’t take him long to adapt to the library’s rules.]
Olivera’s eyes flashed beneath her robe as she crossed her arms.
[He might even meet the owner of the library—the one neither you nor I have ever encountered.]
“Right, I can tell you’re placing expectations on that mage beyond anything imaginable.”
Tilion chuckled.
“So what business remains with me? You’ve already used my favor to open the library’s door—do you still want something?”
[No.]
Olivera stepped forward as she answered.
[But considering our old ties, I have one last piece of advice to give.]
“Heh… advice.”
Tilion shook his head.
“Go on. I can already guess what you’ll say at this point.”
[If you don’t wish to die, stop using the fragments of Acrotrineer.]
Olivera’s eyes gleamed coldly beyond the veil.
Her gaze was directed at the dried branches densely connected around the obsidian coffin.
[If you saw Azamaha’s failure, you should already know. The eternity you seek does not exist there.]
"....."
[The city government is not trying to revive Acrotrineer’s fragments. They merely wish to create bioweapons in preparation for war. And above all—]
Olivera slowly tilted her head back.
[That power is permitted only to the bloodline of Fame. Even he himself has now abandoned its inheritance—a relic of a fallen lineage.]
“Yes. I know…… I am not a member of that family.”
Tilion said as he slowly rose from his place.
As the giant infant stood on two feet inside the obsidian coffin, the branches connected to it shook violently.
Sluuuurp!!
A sound as if something were being violently absorbed rang out, and Tilion’s body began to shrink in place.
Bones and muscles, joints and flesh. The skeleton and nerves compressed, making a crushing sound as they shrank and mutated in real time.
“What I have learned is heterodox sorcery of the old world. The black magic of Fame will never share the same system or worldline as my spells.”
Tilion, now transformed into the shape of ‘something,’ stepped out of the coffin and spoke.
“But so what? In the end, all causality in this world is already twisted and distorted.”
“There will be no more connections between beginning and end. If so, wouldn’t it be fine if I take that place instead?”
Tilion forced a smile as he whispered.
[Take its place……]
“The augmentation ritual always ends before the world reaches its conclusion…… because that ritual is not inherently tied to Ascension.”
Tilion spoke in a gloomy voice.
“That is why the fate of Fame, conversely, may bring one closer to Ascension than anyone else in this world.”
Tilion whispered as Olivera remained silent.
“I want that power. I want the talent and fate built upon death.”
Rumble……!!
Tilion stepped forward slowly, bones cracking as he muttered.
“So do not interfere, Olivera. Before the ending you await, I will devour everything in its place.”
[The ending I await? You’ve misspoken.]
At the same time Olivera raised one hand forward, she lifted her veil.
With her seven-colored Mystic Eyes, she stared at Tilion and spoke coldly.
[I have never once waited for anything.]
***
[I suppose this is as far as I go.]
In the endless darkness.
Walking along the library corridor, Lennok stopped in front of the shelf indicated by the skeleton librarian.
The skeleton glanced at him briefly, then quietly stepped aside.
There seemed to be a faint hint of a smile in its gaze, but its expression could not be read.
[Before this section of the library, the minds of librarians are forcibly shut down. It is to prevent our consciousness from being contaminated by incomprehensible information.]
[Please… achieve what you desire……]
With those words, the light in the skeleton’s eyes slowly faded.
Like a machine that had lost its will and responded only to commands, it passed by Lennok in silence and resumed organizing the library.
But instead of entering the section it had indicated, Lennok stood silently watching its retreating figure.
Had that skeleton librarian mistaken Lennok for someone else?
Or had Lennok truly visited this library at some point in the past?
There were too many possibilities to consider, and he could not reach a definite conclusion.
In the end, as the librarian had said, it was something that could only be known by checking the section directly.
Click.
After some thought, Lennok pulled out a grimoire from the shelf.
The shelf the librarian had indicated. Among them, the book placed closest within reach.
Surely, this was the very book that someone—whom the skeleton mentioned—had most often read.
[Fate Seal: AlouaAu]
The title was written half in comprehensible characters, half in ones he could not understand.
Frowning, Lennok immediately opened the cover.
Ãμ‚®ÀÇ 1وق¦ Áö3a
3⁄41⁄41⁄41ØÀÇ ‚ê‚ÁÀ» °Ç3Ê
¿ØÀÎ3⁄4ØÀÌ Á ̧ÀçÇÏ ́Âoá°ú ̧¦Ã£ ́ ́Ù.
3a'A 3/40A13a ¿©tai Ao 'U.
I leave this writing from beyond the fourth.
Every page of the book was filled with grotesquely distorted characters that could not be understood at all.
Only the final sentence was translated into readable text.
At that point, Lennok realized why he could not decipher the title and contents of this grimoire.
“…A grimoire from the old world.”
These were not characters used in this world to begin with.
If it had been structured as a spell, he might have understood it, but once expressed as old-world text, it became incomprehensible.
Just as Olivera had said, finding the desired spell information in this Dark Library depended entirely on the user’s own knowledge.
‘Difficult, but not impossible.’
Though incomprehensible text filled the surroundings, Lennok did not waver.
Olivera had told him to ‘borrow’ a celestial spell that could twist the orbital cycle of the veil.
That meant such a spell existed somewhere in the library in a form he could understand.
Lennok immediately closed the grimoire, returned it to the shelf, and began calmly examining other shelves.
Rustle!!
He passed shelves filled with grimoires written in eye-corrupting scripts.
He moved past stacks of parchment covered not with text, but grotesque illustrations.
Jars, statues, beast pelts, monster horns.
He ignored even ancient artifacts that made it hard to tell whether this was a library or a museum.
What mattered was whether Lennok could understand and interpret them.
Keeping only that in mind, he scanned his surroundings quickly—
Click.
He suddenly stopped upon realizing that all the skeleton librarians wandering the library had turned to look at him.
All of them, carrying books, simply stared at Lennok with blue flames flickering in their eyes.
As if they had only now recognized his existence.
When Lennok remained still, the skeletons slowly resumed moving one by one.
They returned to organizing books, sorting parchments, and shifting shelves to rearrange the library’s layout.
Why had they reacted to Lennok? What was the trigger?
As Lennok stood still, pondering, he noticed that some text had appeared beneath his feet.
[Do not run in the library.]
"……"
A warning so absurd that even Lennok, who had been slightly tense, let out a bitter smile.
But the moment he saw it, he became certain that his assumption was correct.
Unlike the incomprehensible texts surrounding him, this warning was written in the continent’s language—something he could understand.
Somewhere in this library, there must exist spell information written in a language he could comprehend.
“…Good.”
Lennok found a shelf containing grimoires written in recognizable text.
Though he had wandered far enough to lose track of his original path, he didn’t mind.
This library was not structured in three dimensions—memorizing routes would not lead to an exit.
To escape, a different method would be required.
“The titles are…?”
[Three Guaranteed Curses Endorsed by Akramushu’s Name, Wealth, and Status]
[The Concept and Definition of Heterodox Sorcery, and How to Distinguish It from Pretenders]
[How Stout Became the Coolest Dark Mage on the Old Continent]
…
When written in distorted script, it hadn’t been obvious—but the titles were surprisingly familiar.
Perhaps even dark mages had tried to make their books appealing to disciples and successors.
Feeling an unexpected sense of humanity from ancient dark mages, Lennok scanned the shelves with a strange expression.
[Black God Demonic Art]
[Nether Chain Ghost Script]
[888 Trigram Binding Curse]
“So you replace a microcosm by containing darkness within the body… becoming both mage and warrior…”
There were many grimoires that seemed serious, as well as those containing tempting spells and incantations.
Even if not entirely readable, if less than half was written in unknown script, he could infer the meaning.
“Meditate in darkness for 49 days. Pluck out both eyes and memorize the spell, and new pupils will grow on their own… for reversed vision awakening…”
“A method of killing 100 people… collect the blood of 100 and bathe for 100 days… if even one dies, restart from the beginning…”
“Restrict spells according to feng shui, and amplify certain curse types fourfold…”
True to its name as an archive of heterodox sorcery, it was filled with bizarre and unimaginable techniques.
Their concepts were so alien that even Lennok found himself absorbed for a moment.
But if he continued like this, he might end up reading here forever.
Reluctantly, he decided to take only a few useful ones and move on.
The [Black God Demonic Art], which replaced a microcosm by filling the body with darkness.
And [Hellfire Manifestation], which shaped inextinguishable flames into weapons.
Selecting just two useful grimoires, Lennok immediately moved on.
Unlike when he first entered, his steps were no longer uncertain.
After reading a few grimoires, he had grasped the clear ‘pattern’ governing this library.
‘These grimoires and parchments are not stored randomly.’
The existence of readable books proved that Nox Biblio was not arranged at random.
The skeleton librarians likely existed to classify and manage the library’s contents.
What mattered was understanding that pattern and deducing where the desired information lay.
Dark magic, curses, necromancy, spirit command, contracts of darkness, demonic arts.
Among all these streams of heterodox sorcery—
“This is it.”
[Celestial Spell: Model Garden]
A thick book with only a short title, without any embellishment.
Beneath the cover, a small scribble depicted what seemed like a star in the night sky.
This grimoire contained the celestial spell that would alter the orbital cycle of the veil and allow entry into the Outer Fear City.
The very method Olivera had spoken of.
All that remained was to ‘borrow’ it.
But as Lennok opened the book, his expression immediately stiffened.
“In the name of the celestial that embraces and watches over the heavens.”
‚ðμç ooÀÌ ¿ì ̧®ÀÇ 1⁄43⁄4Õ3⁄4È¿¡1⁄4 È ̧ÀüÇÏ‚ç oû3a3ë ́Ï.
‚ðÇüÁ¤¿ØÀ»‚‚μé3⁄4î ±× 3⁄4Æ ̧§ ́Ù¿òÀ» ¿μ¿øÅä·Ï o ̧Á‚ÄÉ ÇÏ ̧®¶ó.
Unlike the title, most of the contents were written in incomprehensible script.
He had skipped such books until now—but if the celestial spell was written like this, it posed a problem.
Why was the title understandable, but the contents were not?
Why were two different scripts mixed within the same grimoire?
Should he ask Olivera? Or did he need someone capable of deciphering it?
Since his opportunity to access the library was limited, he had to decide quickly.
As Lennok hesitated with the book in hand—
[Do you need interpretation?]
“…!!”
A voice far stronger than that of the skeleton librarian echoed behind him.
Rumble!!!!
Without any warning, the shelves split apart, forming a massive path.
At the end of the dark avenue, countless books and parchments were piled like a mountain.
And among them, someone stood with their back turned, quietly writing with a pen.